The Best Moments sometimes came too late.

I love my mother, heart and soul.

She was an alcoholic who left recovery after ten years of sobriety to return home and do it on her own. That was the biggest mistake she ever made in my opinion.She never took another drink, but I wouldn’t call what she lived, sobriety. 

Mom suffered from severe depression on and off for most of her life. This blog post is not intended to tarnish her memory. Nor is it intended to trash AA, it’s a wonderful program. Mom was an amazing women. A force to behold most days.

She is my beloved. The bravest women I know.  

I will always be thankful for her.

I spent three months with her before she passed and  as crazy hard as those days were, I am eternally grateful for that time.

Nothing was left unsaid.

Our last words to each other were “I love you.” and “I love you too.”

I have peace knowing that my mother loved me and knowing that she knew she was forgiven by me and that I loved her as well. Not many people have that. What a gift.

Mom was laid to rest on August 22, 2015 after a long 15 year battle with COPD and severe depression and anxiety.

May she finally be at peace.

I grieved for three years as she died piece by piece. And I grieve now, not so much always for what we had, but for what we missed.

When she was happy she was a screaming riot, full of life and humor. Manic almost in her pursuit of joy, gardening and art. She would work around the clock creating beauty. I loved those moments as a child, even if I couldn’t keep up. Those were the best moments really. Baking cookies in the middle of the night. Painting ornaments. Creating jelly. Mom on a manic was fun, if not exhausting.

In those moments she was wildly creative and wildly beautiful. 

But when she wasn’t happy, she was a force to be reckoned with, a storm with no warning and no chance of surviving. She was brutal, cutting, and fierce to anyone and every one.

She was, in those moments, my greatest source of pain. 

There was a lot of anger in her depression and those closest to her were her best targets; a sister, a daughter, a niece, a nephew, a friend, it really didn’t matter. She became cold, uncaring almost. Her body would clench up and her eyes would fill with tears as she spoke of those who had inflicted wounds in her life.

Were they real or perceived?

I’ll never know.

It was too much to bear really.

For me anyway.

The suicide attempts or threats.

The lies.

The threats of abandonment.

The manipulation.

The tears.

The anger.

There were countless times I’d speak to her on the phone or visit during one of her “moods” and I’d wind up in the hospital or back in therapy sifting for the truth.

One time, my doctor told me to either have her committed or walk away to save my own life.

I was willing to do neither and chose rather to weather the storm, come what may and find a way to love her in a way that she could recognize. I eventually did towards the end and I have no regrets.

Someone in AA told her that she could not take meds and be “sober.” They said Bipolar disorder was a “lie and an excuse.”

What a load of BS. AA itself does not have opinions on outside issues, but people do and she listened to the wrong ones.

That little pill would have changed both of our worlds for the better, but she wouldn’t take it because AA told her not to.

So who do I be mad at?

A 12 step program that saved my life and sanity through Alanon? That’s not fair.

Should I be mad at her? After all it was her choice not to take meds.

God?

The doctors who didn’t tell her the truth?

No one I guess.

I can’t afford it.

If I spend my days finding someone to be mad at, I’ll never heal.

I’ll spend my life like she did.

A victim.

Alone.

Afraid.

Angry.

Keeping score.

She’s at peace now.

It’s time for me to be the same.

Breathe Darlin’. It’s going to be okay. And if it’s not okay – hold my hand. Let’s walk this together. 

Some days I wish for good aim

I do try to be honest with you guys. As much as I’d like to say I have I have it all together, I don’t always. Yesterday was such a day. Yesterday, I wanted to yell and scream and throw things. I didn’t. But I wanted to.

And yet I know, His mercies are new each morning. Praying for a better today.

Have you ever had one of those days when you wished “good aim” was a fruit of the spirit?

fruit of the spirit - aim

You Will Make Broken Look Beautiful

I read a great quote not that long ago, credited to only Ariana. I can’t find anything on her. It was simply,

“She made broken look beautiful and strong look invincible. She walked with the universe on her shoulders and made it look like angel’s wings.”

Loved it, so I decided to speak that over my younger self. you will make broken look beautiful Hippie Chick

Weird?

Yeah, probably.

But then, I’ve never been accused of being normal.

I found this old photo of me, taken when I was probably 19 and in the throws of bulimia. I had no idea. – I know John Hughes would have loved me as a teen. But he had Molly already and there was no need for two of us.

I had this friend once who, when I was anxious and fearful would say “Breathe Darlin’ ” and I’d take a deep breath and calm down. We aren’t friends anymore. Life does that sometimes, but I never forgot that phrase.

So when life throws you for a loop

and it will

remember that even though it feels like you are carrying the universe on your shoulders, you make it look like angel’s wings. Just don’t forget to breathe.

Love,

Your Oklahoma Hippie Chick.